This Is Ours
by ktmstko
Summary: Elizabeth and Henry are confronted about an issue in their past.
1. Chapter 1

"Ma'am?"

Elizabeth sat back on the couch in her office, one leg propped on the coffee table, the other just underneath her, deeply focused on a thick, bound report of some kind. She held up a hand and slowly lowered it, trying to finish the last of a sentence before breaking her train of thought. She lifted her brow to him, her glasses slightly askew.

"It's two o'clock."

She looked at her watch, bit her lip. Yes, it was.

"Thanks, Blake. Are they ready for me downstairs?"

"They're ready to go, Ma'am."

She put a sticky note on the page where she'd stopped. She walked to her desk slowly, stuffed the report and a few other folders in her briefcase. She paused a moment at the desk, as if taking it in; her hand reached for the phone, and then hovered without picking it up. She bit her lip again.

"Your jacket, Ma'am." This interruption seemed to startle her. She moved her hand away from the phone and finished packing up the briefcase as Blake stood in front of her desk, the beige trench coat ready for her arms.

"You know you don't have to do this for me every time."

"That's what you say."

"And we're clear on this afternoon?"

"No calls sans war until 7, any updates to this behemoth couriered to your house."

"Thank you."

...

Elizabeth stood outside the SUV, alone. It was a beautiful day, breezy with just a slight chill in the air, as was the case in early March in Virginia. It took a little more than hour to get there, a shorter drive than she remembered. She'd planned to finish reading the report, another on the evolving environmental situation with Canada. Nadine had anticipated six months for a do-over on the thing, and now several months past that, it was still a work in progress. Instead, she'd held the report in her hand and watched as the familiar terrain of DC shifted into green hills and wide expanses of farmland.

Frank gave her a nod, indicating the expanse of field in front of her had been cleared. She took a deep breath and began walking up the slight hill, to a tree just beginning to flower with white blossoms. There was a stone bench beside the tree, just covered in the shade that provided a majestic view of the surrounding hills, the mountains and just beyond, she knew, a stream they'd hiked around as a family many times when they'd lived closer. She sat down on the bench, first her legs crossed, as she was apt to do now, and then open. She leaned back against the tree and smile for a moment at her own appearance.

"I probably seem like a mess," she whispered. Formal dress top, pressed and tailored pants and the same dirty white sneakers she'd been wearing for years around the house. "But I couldn't bring those heels out here. I'd sink into the ground. I'd be a real mess." She pulled the trench coat around her as a breeze ran its way through her hair, sending a chill up her spine.

"You know you didn't have to come alone." She sat up quickly, her heart racing.

"Henry."

He must've come up just after her and now, leaning against the tree, he held his hand out. She reached out for it as they embraced, tightly.

"I just thought... you've been so busy this week and I—."

"I know, I thought the same. I didn't hear from you so I just... came anyway."

She moved so that her arm wrapped around him, underneath his jacket, while his arm fell across her shoulders. She pressed herself close to him, feeling his warmth.

"I dream of the day when this is just a memory we can have from anywhere. That we can celebrate his life from wherever we are. But I don't know when that'll be."

"10 years. Hard to imagine it's been that long."

Their eyes fell together on the cemetery stone still underneath the shade of the tree. Adam Henry McCord. Named for her. Named for him. The pregnancy had happened at a rough point in their marriage. They'd argued for weeks about her going to Baghdad, and then argued over the kids, over Henry's job, and then they'd pushed through it. She quit the CIA, settled in at the farmhouse and through all that, Adam had been growing.

Everything was fine until it wasn't. It was a complication, a rare "thing" they couldn't really describe. Whatever it was, it happened in her eighth month and they knew then he wouldn't survive. They waited, desperate. In case it happened that he was born and fine or could be treated, in case they both could survive happy and healthy. He was born, he lived six hours longer than they were told. Long enough for Elizabeth and Henry to hold him, for the kids to meet him and for him then, to pass away slowly in her arms.

She wasn't working then, and they hadn't told many people outside their family - a relief when afterward, she wanted to stay at the house and be away. She wasn't distant, she'd just grown quieter and stayed withdrawn for quite a while as Henry worked with NSA and later, at UVA. She went through most of their library - sometimes cornering Henry when he'd come home with her thoughts Cold War negotiations and the travesty of the current political landscape. It wasn't too long before she was working at UVA with him and their life began to move, if in tiny steps, on.

"Feels like we were much younger then," Henry joked, trying to add a bit of levity. She scoffed.

"If only we'd known all the crazy that'd be thrown our way. That we'd ditch the farm for the city. That I'd sit here talking about my shoes." Henry motioned for them to sit on the bench again; she leaned her head on his shoulder.

"I was thinking about what he might've looked like – would he have Alison's dark hair like mine or lighter like yours," Henry said.

"Well, he had all that dark fuzz when he was born." She paused. "Do you think it was bad not to bring the kids?"

"No. They haven't wanted to come the past several years. We all mourn in our own way. This is ours."


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning, Elizabeth was back in the office before seven. The environmental report was fully notated and ready to go back to the writers, her coffee mug was full, and her outlook supremely better than it had been in weeks. Thinking about Adam's anniversary was, regrettably, a drain on her emotions. With everything that happened in the past six months – this year she had the added weight of feeling guilty for needing to schedule it into her calendar.

She and Henry hadn't intended to make it a tradition, the pilgrimage to Adam's gravesite in Virginia, but it had become that over time. This was the first year they were accompanied by anyone other than each other. Even at a distance, even trusting them with her life, it felt like an intrusion to have her security detail follow so closely to a space so personal. But it had to be that way. No way she was going to spend any amount of time on an expanse of land resembling a grassy knoll.

Adam's grave represented not only their son's life but also the lowest point in their marriage, the point by which everything else was measured, even if unspoken. "We've been through worse," Henry had told her, when they'd been arguing about him testifying. She remembered those earlier arguments with painful clarity because they hadn't known the worst at that point – not really.

Behind her desk now, she could turn her attention to work, to negotiation and diplomacy and whatever world trauma was about to be thrown their way.

"Ma'am?" Blake said, hustling into her office, then taken aback. "You're here early."

"Just catching up on a few things," she said softly, looking up from a stack of folders he'd placed on her desk the night before. "Unless it's something urgent, can you just grab me before Staff?"

"Yes, ma'am." He nodded, and closed the door on his way out running almost directly into Daisy, coffee in hand with Matt following closely behind. "I shouldn't need to tell you but: too close."

"Has she seen it yet?" Daisy was in full work-mode, too early at this pace. Her face was stern, this was the freaked-out face, the one that contorted her jaw to be extra angular and her eyes open wide.

"Can you elaborate?" He said, walking to his desk and logging back into his computer.

"The headlines, the morning shows, it's all over social media."

"Lying Liars at State: The Well of Deception at the State Department," "Fraudy Bottoms: What Else is McCord Hiding," "Virginia is for Lovers: McCords Escape to Cemetery Hideaway," Matt began.

"Ok, I have no idea what any of that means."

"Where did the Secretary go yesterday afternoon? I saw you cleared her calendar. I thought it might've been some kind of medical thing, but this," she held up the iPad revealing pictures of Elizabeth and Henry holding hands in an open field. "this says she was in Virginia."

"We have to release a statement soon because the implications aren't good," Matt chimed in, his notebook at the ready.

"I can't imagine what implications you mean and I'm fairly certain it's none of our business, nor anyone else's, where or what she was doing."

"What I was doing where?" Elizabeth piped up, the door to her office now open. The three staff members looked up at her quickly, immediately regretful of their tone.

"Ma'am," Daisy stepped forward. "The press is latching onto a story about deception within the department - it's probably centered around the coup in Iran, but several outlets published pictures this morning," she extended the iPad again. "They're saying you're hiding something, or revealing classified information to Mr. McCord in a place where you can't..."

"Where I can't?..." she looked, unfazed, at the iPad.

Daisy swallowed hard. "Where you can't be tracked."

"Blake is right. This is no one's business. I'm not going to dignify this with a response."

"Ma'am, I can wordsmith something to appease the vultures."

"Matt," she smirked. "Have you ever known anything to appease vultures for any significant amount of time? No, for now, nothing."

"What should I tell the press? They're going to be all over me in the briefing."

"Deflect." She smiled again. Handing the iPad back, she walked back into her office and closed the door behind her.

Safely inside, she leaned back against the hard wood, her heart racing. She'd been stupid to take the security detail, to go all the way out to Virginia alone. She pulled her hair back away from her face, feeling suddenly flush and hot. She took deep breaths and closed her eyes. This was the thing, this was the one thing she'd wanted to protect - the news about Stevie wanting to be out of the public eye would've come out eventually, the revelation that she owned multiple homes including a painfully expensive farmhouse in which they spent little time would come out, that Jason was expelled from school would no doubt be an eventual headline, but _this_ was something with which she couldn't deal. This was not for public consumption.

She stood there for several minutes, her mind mostly processing the day. Only seven AM. Already her life was national news. It was a lapse in security, no doubt. But there was something more. Whether she wanted to admit it or not, she would eventually have to reveal this, maybe the last thing people in America wanted to know, but without her full personal and professional transparency, they refused to trust otherwise. Her cell phone began to buzz on her desk. She let it do so for two cycles before moving toward it.

"Henry," she said. Her voice steady despite its weariness.

"You saw?"

"I _heard_. I don't know..." her voice caught in her throat.

"I know we probably shouldn't talk about it over the phone. I just wanted to check on you."

"I'm... I'm fine. I could kick myself for not being more discreet. We're smarter than this. I just-"

"Babe, you can't blame yourself."

"I should've known this would happen. I should've known. And it's beyond frustrating that I can't just do my job, do the work, without there being some kind of inquiry into who I am as a person, or what I'm hiding, or what color my bed sheets are."

"Just take a breath." She did. "Don't get me wrong, I want to punch a wall right now. Or maybe a few journalists."

"Who does this, Henry? Who does this?"

"Babe, it's just part of the job."

"I don't _want_ this part." A moment of silence passed. "I guess we need to have a family talk and decide what to do. I'm not really worried about the kids so much, I just don't want this to snowball into some big thing we're hiding."

He laughed, quietly. "Even though it _is_ some big thing we're hiding."

"Stop. You know what I mean." She relaxed into her desk chair, the hint of a smile on her face. Whenever there were hard times between them, eventually the laughter would come back. They had thick skins, the two of them, they'd already dealt with the big issue, the big "deception" as the headline read. "Now I just have to worry about what else is going on around here that's going to prompt Russell to send me to the morning shows again."

"Listen, I'm just giving one lecture this afternoon, then I'm off for the day. So you can call anytime and I'll probably pick up. And I'm sure the big deception is something really serious like the burnt taste I get from the coffee outside your office or that you've worn the same jacket for two days in a row."

"You think the coffee tastes burned?"

"I'll talk to you tonight," he laughed.

"Henry?... I love you, okay?"

"Okay... I love you too."


	3. Chapter 3

Later that night, Henry found Elizabeth already in bed. She'd propped several pillows behind her and leaned deeply into them, a thick book hiding her face.

"Is that a book you're reading? No reports, no memos, no requests for aid?" He said, dropping his bag by the armoire. She looked up, then turned the book over on her lap.

"Ha ha, Professor. This is supposed to be relaxing."

"No family meeting then?"

"Well, you had to stay late and Stevie had a study group, so unless you want to call a midnight session?" He sat down on the edge of the bed, then fell back softly so that his head landed on her lap. Her hand went immediately to his forehead, where she began to stroke his hair. "Long day?"

"Hmph... it would be funny if it weren't so invasive."

"I'm sorry about earlier."

"About what?"

"You called to check on me. I didn't even ask about you." She picked up the book again, closed it and moved it to her side table and in the same motion, moved a small pillow underneath Henry's head. "How are _you_?"

"I'm fine," he reached out to clasp her hand. "It's hard enough on us every year, but to have everyone's eyes on me today... I can't understand it."

"Daisy says my reticence looks like admission."

"Admission to what? Did you figure out what the major deceptions were? I haven't actually read any of the articles."

"It's about Iran," she began calmly. "Leftover criticism from the committee hearing, lots of theorizing on my use of Vesuvian and how it's my ultimate goal to destroy America. You know, the usual."

"You don't sound as worked up about it as I am," he sighed as she ran her hand through his hair again.

"You haven't listened to nearly enough whale tapes then."

"But really," he sat up, still leaning towards her. "We should talk to the kids but... what do you want to do about this?"

She took a deep breath, then leaned back into the pillows. Henry tightened his grip on her hand. "I feel so heavy lately. Like, there's a weight on my chest that I can't seem to get rid of. And it's not just the job and it's not just Iran, it's _all_ of this," her eyes were now wet with tears. "Several of my close, most trusted friends are either dead or in jail, I almost sent you and Isabelle there, Stevie dropped out of college, Jason's expelled, it seems like Aly is one headline away from an anxiety disorder all her own..." she trailed off, her head now in her hands. Henry moved closer.

"Babe?"

"I'm afraid that..."

"What?"

"I don't know. It's just the media is merciless. We're sitting here talking about it like we have a choice - whoever took that picture knows exactly where we were and I can't imagine the world won't know why by tomorrow."

"What are you afraid of?"

"That they'll start digging. That they'll find my medical files, that a string of anonymous doctors will take a look and decide for themselves what happened with Adam and-" she wiped away tears, now streaming down her face.

"Hey, don't think that" he pulled her close until her head was safely in the nook of his neck, his arms wrapped around her tightly. He strained against the surge of emotion within him.

"I'm afraid it's going to be my fault. It'll be something we did- no, something I did."

"Shh," he said, moving his hands over her back. "It's not going to happen like that."

A knock at the door interrupted them. Elizabeth sat up straight as first Jason, then Alison and finally Stevie came into the room, their faces wide with concern.

"What's going on?" Jason said, the other two at his heels. Elizabeth coughed, wiping her eyes and cheeks, trying to gain composure as quickly as possible.

"Nothing's going on. Mom and I are just having a discussion."

"Mom, are you okay?" Alison asked, walking to the edge of the bed.

"I'm fine, Sweetie," she sniffled, motioning for her to sit closer.

"What are you doing home so early?" Henry deflected, to Stevie.

"It ended up only being two of us so... we made some flashcards and called it a night," she said, hesitantly.

Henry looked at Elizabeth, Alison had curled up next to her and they'd wrapped their arms around each other. "You want to do this, then?" he asked, softly. She sighed. Might as well.

"Why don't you guys sit down?"

"Is this about what was on the news today?" Jason said as he and Stevie climbed onto the edge of the bed. "You and Mom in some field? Because I'm not gonna lie, it definitely looked suspicious."

Henry smiled. "We were near the old house, at Adam's gravesite." They kids stiffened up.

"I didn't realize it was that time again," Stevie said. Stevie had taken it the worst when it happened. She'd been almost 11 then, well into school, well into knowing what had been and what suddenly wasn't. She'd also helped see Elizabeth through the depression that followed.

"I think we all kind of forgot about it, honey," Elizabeth reached out for her hand. "Your Dad and I go every year just to make sure it's kept up and to... say hi, I guess."

"How did the press find out?"

"We don't know. Someone must've followed Mom's detail and there we were."

"That's why you're crying, because the press found out?" Alison asked.

"Um," Elizabeth looked up, trying to prevent the tears from falling again. "Yes. We've just had all these big changes this year - for you guys, and Dad, and me and I guess I thought we made it through without Adam becoming something we were going to have to share with everyone. It sounds silly now."

"You guys know what a hard time that was for all of us. It hurts to have to relive it, or anticipate what's going to happen next."

"Are you going back on _Face the Nation_?" Jason asked.

"Gah," she scoffed. "I hope not. They put so much make-up on me, I felt like I was drowning." She squeezed Alison tight, a small smile crossing their faces.

"But we did want to talk together, as a family," Henry continued. "We're probably going to have to say something."

"I don't think we should say anything," Jason interjected.

"Me either, buddy, but you know how it is. The more we try to hide stuff, the more people try to get at it."

"Can't you just say it's private?" Stevie asked.

"We can," Elizabeth said.

"When has that ever been enough?" Alison started.

"Aly," Henry tried to interrupt.

"No, really. When have you ever heard a public figure say 'It's private, sorry' and something goes away?"

"Isn't it public information? Like, a little digging and anyone could've found this out a long time ago, right?" Stevie asked.

"It's true," Henry said. "So we may not have a choice as to what information gets out, but we might be able to frame a narrative that gives respect to us and to Adam's memory. What do you guys think?"


	4. Chapter 4

Hours later, the loud buzzing of her phone on the side table woke them both. They weren't in the habit of sleeping so close together, but the emotions of the night had continued to run high after the family meeting and when her eyes finally opened to see the light from the phone like a beacon, it was _his_ arm that reached just up and over to grab it for her. He slipped it on the sheets just next to her, moving then tightly around her middle, his head almost burrowing into her neck.

"Hello... it's two... no, I'm on my way now."

He kissed her neck, hugged her tightly once more. "It never gets easier watching you leave in the middle of the night."

"Let me tell you," she said, raspy with sleep. "It never gets easier for me either." She slipped out of bed, grabbing her robe at the bottom and heading into the bathroom.

Henry took a deep breath and sat up against the headboard. "You think you'll have time to come back after this?"

"I guess it depends on who we're at war with," she said, emerging from the closet and moving at a faster pace.

"We're at war?" he asked, jokingly. He rubbed his eyes and reached for his glasses.

"Or we've done something, lost something or been kidnapped," she started, pulling on a pair of dress pants. "At this hour, it's really a pick your poison situation."

"I just wanted to get on board with the kids, you know, before anything."

She dropped her robe to the floor and slipped a silk top over her head. She moved to the bed and sat down on Henry's side. "Can you button this? At the top?" She shivered as his fingers touched her neck. She sighed. "If you're fine with it, I'm sure I'll be fine with it."

"I'm not really fine with it but-"

"Henry..." she turned back, her hand on his. "I can't think about this right now." He sighed as she got up and moved back into the bathroom. "I'm sure they'll do fine, but I swear," she stuck her head out, a toothbrush lodge between her teeth. "If there are grammatical or spelling errors, I'm blaming it on you."

He scoffed and leaned back against the pillows, still wide awake. She emerged a few minutes later, just a little make-up and her glasses now firmly affixed to her face. She put her hand on his shoulder and leaned down to kiss him on the head. "Henry, I'm sorry about this."

"It's not your fault, don't apologize," he said, softly.

"I want to," she whispered. "I have to go." She squeezed his shoulder and walked out of the bedroom. He watched her go and sank back into the bed. The press thing had come in like a lion the moment she told Conrad Dalton she'd serve. It was instantaneous, the switch. The farmhouse was loaded with security and cameras and security. There were briefings and memos and incredibly detailed talking points for the kids, for her, for him. They'd done so well for a while - all through the senate confirmation hearing, Elizabeth's first wobbly months at State, the dinners and interviews. And then the big stuff started hitting them - the stuff that slipped in like air through the door as they passed, the journalists or pseudo-journalists who lived, worked and published in the grey area between free speech and libel. All the way to now.

The situation with Adam was hurting him more than he wanted to admit to Elizabeth. Maybe she was hurting the same, but he wanted to be the one with the resolve, he wanted to be the strong one for her because she'd been through so much, was still going through it. The anniversary was a thing in itself - the 10 years. All of their kids had made a big deal about being two-hands old. And though he'd gotten used to them being a family of five, was now in the habit of looking at his kids and not seeing the gaping hole of his missing son, it was anniversaries like these that brought him back.

"Dad?... Dad?"

Henry's eyes opened. The bright light of day shined through the window, making him squint at the figure of Alison standing in the doorway. "Dad? Why are you still asleep? You're going to be late."

He looked at the clock. 6:45 AM. When had those hours passed? He rubbed his eyes under his glasses and sat up as she came to his side of the bed, a piece of paper outstretched in her hand. "You said you'd read over this..." He took the paper and leaned back, trying to focus on the words.

...

Elizabeth walked into the State Department, an empty mug of coffee in her hand. The meeting at the Sit Room had lasted longer than any amount of sleep she'd been able to get in two days. There wasn't time to run home and get more or change or never come back, there was only time to head into the office and start the day over.

"Ma'am?" Blake popped up at her side with a tall, steaming cup of coffee. She smiled and traded him her empty mug. "We have the French Ambassador at 8, a call with Samantha Power at 8:30, and you wanted to reserve an hour to read over the new Human Rights in the Middle East report, right?"

"I wanted to reserve an hour... with myself?"

"You sent an oddly worded email around 4 o'clock this morning, yes."

"That's usually the time I'm sleeping, you know."

"It's definitely the time I'm sleeping, but you seem to be a glutton for public service."

"Blake?" she asked, almost to her office.

"Ma'am?"

"Good morning." She smiled. Blake nodded.

"Good morning, Ma'am."

"Can you bring in the desk officer for the Middle East at some point - make sure Nadine is in that meeting, I want to follow-up on the report."

"Ma'am?" Daisy interrupted. So close to her office, and so many people calling her Ma'am on a constant loop. These were the moments, if only in a fog of no sleep, that she felt too old to be talking reports and meetings and incredibly nostalgic for the farmhouse. For any farmhouse, at any point in her life.

"Daisy..." she said, taking a sip of coffee and taking the final steps into her office. A finish line of sorts. A personal win for the morning.

"I got a call this morning about something being sent from your children to the _New York Times_?"

"Yes, Henry knows someone there." She rounded her desk and sat down in the plush leather chair, her jacket still wrapped around her.

"It's an Op-Ed piece. They're sending it over, but... you know about this?"

"I'm aware. The kids wanted to respond to the barrage of press yesterday. Is it going to be a problem?"

"I guess that's what I'm asking you?"

Her staff now fanned out in her office. The TV ran MSNBC news coverage, a stack of fresh newspapers lay folded on her coffee table. Everything was new, as it was, every day.

"I haven't read it but I have an idea of what it might say. It shouldn't be a problem."

"Ma'am, in the future, it would really be beneficial if you ran those types of things by me. So we're not blindsided and we can distribute it from the office."

"I would like to not have been blindsided by the press yesterday, but we can't always get what we want."

"Ma'am?" Nadine interrupted. "It's time for the French Ambassador, would you like me to sit in?"

"I would, Nadine," she smiled, lopsided as the staff made their way out of her office. "Nous vous remercions de l'interruption."

A pause.

"Daisy?" She turned around. "Read it and let me know if you think there will be a problem. I'll deal with it then, okay?"


	5. Chapter 5

**_10 years prior..._**

He found her on the back porch steps. Stevie and Alison played on an elaborate playground gym Henry and his Father built a few years back - they could see the thing from the front door and through the wide French doors that lead outside, and he spied the girls immediately, their faces flush with excitement. It was chilly then, as it usually was in Winter, but they'd had a fortunate week without snow so the kids could play outside in sweaters and be fine. The view was exactly what he imagined when they'd moved in. He dreamed of coming home, sitting next to his wife, watching his kids play, and thinking about absolutely nothing else. It had been a fantasy, but he was living it.

Elizabeth sat on the few stairs leading down to the yard, a cup of tea sitting precariously on the wooden railing she leaned on. Her blonde hair fell long against that chunky grey sweater she always wore, the one with the slight lavender scent he couldn't get enough of. Jason sat next to her, involved in some elaborate conversation. He would be a talker, that one.

"How's my little boy?" he said, coming outside.

"Daddy!" the kids screamed in unison. He picked Jason up, the poor thing not ready to leave his conversation, Stevie and Alison soon enveloping each of his legs, their tiny arms like snakes. "Okay, okay."

"Back to the fort!" Stevie yelled, and in a moment, they were gone. Henry put snuggled Jason, then put him back down. The little boy moved in between Elizabeth's legs, holding onto her knee as she turned to Henry. He sat down next to her, extending his legs and leaning back against the wooden stairs. She smiled half-heartedly.

"Hey babe," he leaned in to kiss her cheek. "Long day?"

"Something like that," she whispered.

"Mommy, I want to play on the swings," Jason said. He'd been trying to get closer to her then, to wrap his little arms around her but the bulk of her pregnant belly was preventing him. His little hands encircled it.

"Okay, baby." He looked up at her with wide eyes, prompting her to lean over, pick him up and put him on her knee so he could wrap his arms around her neck. Henry smiled watching this action, their regular routine lately now that Jason was entering his clingy phase. With Elizabeth home the past several months, they'd become inseparable. It seemed to him, watching as Jason's head fell to his mother's shoulder, that she was holding him tighter and longer than she normally did. Something extra for all the attention the girls got. She kissed the top of his head and placed him back on the steps. "Be careful, okay?"

He ran off quickly.

Henry reached for Elizabeth's hand. She must've sensed it because she crossed her arms and leaned back, like it was preemptive move to warm herself.

"Are you okay, babe?

"We need to talk," she said, almost at the same time.

"Did Conrad call again?" he sighed, looking straight ahead. It had happened a few times in the months since she'd quit the CIA. Conrad would test the waters of her boredom, of her previous dedication to service, of her couldn't-be-true love of that farm. Every time, it would put her on edge for a few days. Nothing Conrad ever said was untrue. She loved the horse farm but she missed going into work every day, she missed working with her friends-especially now that Isabelle was back from London- she missed solving those international mysteries with real spies and villains. She missed it terribly.

After the Baghdad fight, she'd been fine. It was rough going but then she was pregnant and could spend time with the kids, maybe write a book - they were happy. But those Conrad calls made Henry feel like little hammers were hitting at the weak points between them, like something was driving them apart. He couldn't stand it. Or himself, he hated feeling paranoid. It wasn't like him. It wasn't like them to argue that way.

"No, he didn't call." She bit her lip. Something was bothering her. He put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her to him, her head on his chest. "Then, come here," he joked. "I haven't seen you all day and I missed you." She resisted for a few beats, before acquiescing and letting him hold her there. He kissed the top of her head and ran his free hand over her belly. Man, he loved that. They had tried for a third, but this one, their fourth, was a surprise of sorts.

She stopped his hand and for a moment, they held together at the center of her belly. She took a deep breath.

"We need to talk, Henry," she said softly, as if she was trying to get out something more strong-sounding but came up with only this. A chill ran up his spine. He sat up, letting her go. She shifted herself, pulling the grey sweater tighter around herself. She still stared straight ahead at the kids. He steeled himself, his jaw tight. He reached for her hand again and this time, she grasped it.

"Elizabeth, what's going on?"

She coughed, trying to clear her throat. Gathering herself. He could see the emotions moving over her face.

"Babe, look at me." She turned slowly, her tongue on her lips, her eyes squinting as if in pain. She looked at him for a moment before her expression changed again, her eyes wide in sympathy, her mouth trying to force a cry back down.

"Hm. The baby's gone, Henry." She pushed out a breath, her eyes now filled with tears. She sniffled as Henry's eyes went wide, a deep cold shooting through his bones and into the pit of his stomach. He felt like he wanted to vomit. He tightened his grip on her hand, and with his other, moved again to her belly. Her eyes closed then and he pulled her into his chest. He forced himself to breathe. To take in slow, methodical breaths, to stop his heart from the race it was on. How could this even be possible? He'd been at the last doctor's appointment, he'd heard the heartbeat, the everything's normal prognosis, his new son to come in only two short months or less. They'd already named him, already made a space for him upstairs, they'd already forgiven each for the anger and make-ups that created him. He was practically already here. Except he wasn't.

"Babe, I don't understand," he said later. Stevie and Alison barely had the energy to eat dinner and once they were finished, conked out so quickly, Henry had to carry them upstairs from the living room while Elizabeth tended to Jason. He'd been able to calm himself while they sat on the porch, and forced the thought from his mind as Elizabeth called them in for dinner. They avoided each other in the hour directly afterward, turning instead to their kids. Smiling and talking like there'd been no change from the night before. Henry hadn't felt the anxiety again until he walked past Jason's room, saw him snuggled into Elizabeth's arm and belly, clearly asleep, as she finished the last page of a book for him. She'd seen him in the corner of her eye, but wanted those few precious moments with her little boy.

They met again in the kitchen. Henry was washing dishes and she crept up behind him, her arms wrapping around his middle. He'd stopped then and they stood like that for a few minutes, him leaning over the sink, her leaning on him, their hands together.

"I don't understand. What did they say again?" They sat on the couch together, a single lamp the only light in the otherwise dim living room.

"They said there was... a complication. It's rare. He's-" she cleared her throat. "He's alive in that his heart is still beating," she forced down tears. "But he'll probably not surv- not survive the next few weeks." She must've told him that already but everything was going in one ear and out the other, he couldn't make sense of it. "But there's not a name to it? There's not anyone we could see?"

"I don't know..." she said. He pulled her to him again, her back against his chest, his arms wrapped around her shoulders. "You weren't there, and I didn't have anyone... I didn't know what to say," she struggled. "I just kept thinking about the girls here and Jason and that I promised I would let them play outside." He felt her forcing down sobs, and his own heart started to race again.

"It's okay," he said, moving his hand through her hair. "It's okay, we'll figure this out..."


	6. Chapter 6

Elizabeth sat behind her desk, the first several calls and meetings of the day finished without interruption. She had absent-mindedly asked for the desk officer for the Middle East and received, in response, several such people who crowded around her couch and desk talking about the Human Rights report which was both great, and awful, accurate and painfully misguided. It had been, at least, an interesting back-and-forth that reminded her of doing the same with Isabelle and Juliet so long ago.

Now it was quiet again, and she'd been given even more reports and cables and lists of people who wanted meetings. Mostly other people sorted this for her, but much of it still made it to her desk, made it on her radar - which lately, was a constant blur of international travesty. A soft knock interrupted her thoughts. She looked up slowly, her pen still poised at the bottom of a page.

"Madam Secretary," Daisy said, softly.

"Daisy."

She walked in the room slowly, practiced. "I just wanted to let you know that I read the Op-Ed and... I think it will be fine."

Elizabeth smiled. "Good."

"And I just wanted to say that I'm sorry for your loss. Your children wrote really beautifully. You should be proud of them."

"I appreciate that, Daisy, thank you."

"It's going online in an hour, and it'll be in tomorrow's paper."

"Okay, great." She inhaled deeply, then looked back down at her work as Daisy began to walk away. "Daisy?"

"Yes, Ma'am?" she said, standing in the doorway.

"Just, out of curiosity. There's not really a point when we're totally transparent and the press just reports on that, right?"

"Ma'am, nothing would ever be enough for the press, but I'll manage. We'll manage it."

"Thank you."

...

Her office was inundated with calls within ten minutes of the article appearing on the New York Times' website. It had subsequently gone out on the wire, out to social media, out to the world who apparently felt the insatiable need to comment. Within an hour, the topic was being discussed on various morning panel shows and Daisy locked herself in her office fielding interview requests. It was amazing and disappointing how much more interested in Elizabeth people became when the subject was personal tragedy and not an international coup.

Elizabeth paused in her work. She opened her laptop and navigated to the Op-Ed at the New York Times website. It was easy to find, right on the front page. Without thinking, she leaned in close to the screen. After the first read, she stared at the screen for a solid minute. Then, she read it again.

"Hey," she said, holding her cell phone. If she held the phone just right, Henry's voice through the speaker sent a chill down her spine. It was an incredibly useful tool in stressful situations.

"Hey you," he responded.

"Our kids."

"I know," he paused. "You read it then?"

"Just now. I don't even know what to say."

"They did pretty good."

"Hey, you know what I was thinking we should do? We should have a night in - you know, all of us with some junk food. Just some time together after the craziness of the week, you know?"

A knock on her door, proceeded by its opening Blake standing in the doorway, interrupted them.

"Hey Henry, I've got to go. Just text me later if you think it'll work and I'll make sure we all have our favorites."

"Ma'am? I'm sorry to interrupt, you have a meeting at the White House."

She put down the phone and grabbed her jacket from the chair. "I don't remember seeing that-"

"As in they just called and scheduled a meeting for 10 minutes from now. We'll just do a quick jog," he said, leading her out with a quickness.

"Of course they did. Any idea as to what it's regarding?" They rode the elevator down.

"On a scale of..."

"Reelection to Nuclear scare."

"Those are extremes, Ma'am. I'd say somewhere between Russell Jackson's indigestion and a Macy's sale." They reached the outside of the building, her security detail waiting just beyond the doors when a barrage of press surrounded her upon exit. Surprise felt too kind a word, attack maybe too severe, but the surge forward made her lose her footing and she stumbled into one of her bodyguards as they began to surround her. It was a veritable crowd - with iPhones and microphones and sticks with fuzzy ends pointed in her direction, following by cameras by and small, some flashing, some recording, all in very close proximity.

"What else are you hiding in the State Department?" ; "Are your kids gonna bail you out of this one?" ; "How much did it cost to get your kids to lie for you?" ; "How do you feel being called a monster?" ; "Did the Dalton administration tell you to lie?" ; "Did President Dalton encourage you to abort your child?" ; "Secretary McCord? Secretary McCord?"

The last line, being yelled by a guy with a particular New Jersian accent was the last one she heard before she was safely ensconced in the car. Blake fled once the detail took over and now watched the SUV as it peeled away from the State Department's large overhang. Her heart was racing.

"What was that?" she asked, out of breath. There was only one security guard with her, a woman with sunglasses, breathing heavily herself.

"Are you okay, Ma'am?"

"I'm-" she looked herself over. "I'm fine, I just- what was that about?"

"I'm not sure, Ma'am. It won't happen again."

Elizabeth leaned back against the seat, the belt tight around her chest. It wasn't so much the anxiety of the moment as the sinking feeling in her stomach that every move she made to do something right caused a backlash in an opposite direction. Her phone buzzed. Nadine.

"Nadine, what's going on?" she asked.

"Ma'am, a Senator from Georgia called for an investigation into the State Department this morning. He's challenging our transparency on a multitude of issues, including our disclosures about your personal life. He's a nut case but with the Op-Ed this morning and it being an apparent slow news day, he's getting coverage when he should be committed. It's completely without merit and offensive and we're on it."

" _Who_ is it?"

"His name is Tom Macon. It's his first term, elected from a gerrymandered district preaching about investigations into everything."

"And this happened in the past 20 minutes? I just talked to Daisy and she didn't say anything about it."

"He came to make a statement in front of the State Department. That's why the press was already here."

"Okay, look into it. If he's targeting my kids, I want to know."

They were interrupted by an open door, and another string of press, this time the regular White House corp surrounding her as she walked briskly from the car into the open doors of 1600. They were less obtrusive, probably owing to their need to keep those press passes. Russell Jackson met her in the hallway.

"You're having a big day," he said, smirking. She rolled her eyes.

"What's the meeting?"

"The President just wants to talk."

"Bess!" President Dalton said, extending his hand as they walked. "It's been too long."

"It's been three hours, sir." He lead her into the Oval Office. Russell followed and shut the door behind them. Elizabeth and Dalton sat on the couches in the middle of the room, while Russell held back.

"Bess," he said, holding her hand. It was a strange and unfamiliar gesture. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Tell you?"

"Tell me about what happened? The Op-Ed this morning?" A wave of mixed relief and renewed anxiety washed over her face. She'd been deep in thought about the impending accusations and investigations, she'd stopped thinking about the _other_ situation.

"Oh, Conrad. I'm sorry. I... it was a long time ago. Henry and I just wanted, you know, to keep it to ourselves."

"You know my wife and I have faced similar troubles."

"I do."

"Well the Op-Ed was something else. If you and Henry ever want to talk about things that don't involve war or nuclear codes, you know you're always welcome."

Elizabeth smiled, pulling her hand away. It was a nice gesture. Almost over the top. Though she'd known him for years, though he'd been a mentor of sorts for over a decade and now not only her boss but the leader of the free world, it felt, at least in front of Russell, uncomfortable.

"Thank you, Mr. President."

"But, to some business matters..." Russell took a seat on the opposite couch. "This call for an investigation into State is ramping up a little more than I'd like."

"Sir, from what I understand, it's being lead by a -"

"A heretic? An imbecile? Excuse me, Elizabeth. I really shouldn't talk like that but it's guys like him that make me _and_ the American people lose faith in government. Crowing on about a system he doesn't understand and doesn't care to. You know how many roads in his State aren't paved? Too many. Which wouldn't be a big deal if people didn't desperately want them paved. He's one of those against welfare when an unfortunate percentage of his constituents struggle make minimum wage and depend on it."

"Sir?"

"I'm on a soapbox," he sighed, leaning back. "What I'm trying to say is that I understand he's a loose cannon, but the fact remains he's getting airtime and an investigation no matter how encompassing takes away from our work. I think the press will sit on this for a while, and I want to make sure you're ready for that."

"Can you ever really be ready for that?" she joked.

"Coming from someone still struggling with that fact, no," he paused, sighing. "I know you need to protect your family now but as it relates to our obligations here, we need to quash this, all right? Whatever you need to do."

"Yes, sir."

xxx

 _Needed to get a little business in to keep the story going. Thank you again for your R &Rs._


	7. Chapter 7

Their texts to each other didn't reveal the stress and pressure they'd come under since the publication of the Op-Ed and the news coverage given to the raving Senator. He was railing so fantastically against Elizabeth and the State Department, it was even hard for the most of the talking heads to do anything but stare at him in disbelief. The Senator was becoming a boon for ratings, and every show on which he appeared was immediately trending on social media, his accusations cut into neat hashtags that his supporters used to call attention to everything they thought was wrong in government, from the State Department's mishandling of Iran, to Elizabeth's ever-evolving and hidden family life to the President's own troubled son and how that was likely affecting government subsidized health care, among #hottopics.

When she walked through the door, the smell of Chinese food flooded her senses. She could taste the Lo Mein before she closed the door, and the peels of laughter from her children warmed her heart in a way she wasn't expecting. It was that, at the end of a long day, those laughs, the warmth of the roof over their heads, that kept her going. Henry spied her from the staircase and slid on the wood floor to meet her.

"Guess what we're watching?" he winked.

"Babe," she laughed. He helped her take off her jacket, as she moved into the study. "They're not gonna like that movie."

" _Risky Business_? It's a classic," he kissed her quickly as she dumped her briefcase in a chair and removed her heels.

"Hey," she said, smiling at him. She was eager to let his good mood imbue itself into her. She wanted to soak it up, to leave all the madness outside. She put her hands on either side of his face and pulled him to her. He wrapped his arms around her and picked her up as they kissed. A long, deep kiss. They hadn't done that in a while. Her arms wrapped around his neck as he pulled her tighter. She wrapped a leg around his, pulling him closer. Little gestures she used to do with more frequency. After a few moments, she pulled away, out of breath and kissed him twice, quickly before letting go. "Do I have time to change or did you already start it?"

He cleared his throat, still taken back at her kiss. "Change into whatever you like..." he smiled as she turned and raced upstairs. He swallowed hard. The day had imploded on them at almost the exact moment they'd been talking to each other. Pictures of her and him, their family, were all over the news as everyone from people on the street to news anchors to experts in such and such a field commented on the state of her department, the state of their marriage, what a secret like the one they'd protected meant for secrets. It was as laughable as it was contentious. So they did what they thought was best and avoided it when they were with each other. Even as he left to get a sandwich at lunch and was blindsided by a reporter, he texted her to make sure she wanted Lo Mein _and_ fried rice, or if she was feeling something else.

When she'd texted back her usual, he wrote that he loved her. Because he did.

The next hour they spent partly watching the movie and partly listening to their kids come to terms with watching an almost 40-year-old movie. Their kids were still their kids. They were happy kids, and at least in this moment, free from the worry and confusion that had plagued them all week. They drank, they ate pizza and mocked the Tom Cruise slide. They laughed, talked about things that happened when they all had been younger - Mom and Dad's first date, that time Stevie cried watching Snow White in a movie theater, the time Aly stole Jason's ice cream cone and held the stolen cone behind her back so long it melted before she'd had a chance to eat it.

"Guys, guys," she interrupted them, pausing the DVD. "I can't believe I forgot to bring this up!" She nudged Henry in the ribs.

"Not my fault," he nudged her back.

"Your Dad and I just wanted to say how proud we are of you," she reached out to squeeze Jason's shoulder. "For what you wrote today, it was really... profound and genuine and still private. I was really- _we_ were really moved by it. But also, we want to thank you guys - for now - for being good kids. They're good kids, right?" she joked to Henry.

"Sometimes..."

"Oh c'mon, Dad," Jason joked.

"I also wanted to apologize for not including you this year... Sometimes I forget that Adam affected you guys, that you were upset and sad and maybe I wasn't able to respond in the right way because I was that way too."

"Mom," Alison and Stevie moved from the love seat to the couch with their parents, their arms wrapped around Elizabeth and each other.

"When I read what you wrote, I just..." she began to tear up. "I felt so grateful to have you guys." She didn't cry, but the last few words got stuck in her throat and she leaned back against Henry.

"Mom's right. And if you want to go this weekend, we'll drive back down to Virginia and spend some time together, okay?"

"I think that would be great," Stevie said, almost a whisper.

"All right, family hug" he said. "Jason get up here." Jason hopped up on the arm of the couch behind Henry and they all snuggled in. Henry reached behind Elizabeth and squeezed Aly's arm, causing a chain reaction of laughs and nudges until they were all back in the places they'd been, talking again and watching the movie. Elizabeth laid back on the couch, on Henry's chest, slightly tucked into his side. He'd forgotten she'd been up since two, and ran his fingers through her hair as she slept. It wasn't often she got the chance to sleep soundly, in such peaceful conditions. He liked the feel of her steady breathing, of her hand still sleepily tucked into his.

"What do you think's gonna happen tomorrow?" Jason asked, leaning against the couch. Stevie and Alison, tucked into the love seat again looked over with equally interested, if sleepy, eyes.

"I don't know, buddy. I could venture some guesses but they could all be wrong in an hour."

"It's kind of fascinating how fast things change here," Aly said softly. "One minute we're fine, the next minute Mom's all in the news and then we're here again and you've got a knife to your neck in Bolivia-"

"Hey, who told you about that?" Henry interjected. They'd agree, between the two of them, that it was best to keep some of the more dangerous excursions from the kids. She'd always know where he was and he'd always know where she was, and sometimes, even that was too much, a violation they couldn't help but break though they'd likely deny it when pressed.

"I saw on YouTube a while ago, someone was filming with a phone or something."

"Listen, you don't need to worry about that. Don't forget who your Dad is."

"Okay, Mr. Invincible," Elizabeth mumbled, sleepily, turning into him to face the kids better.

"Hey," he turned to her, fake-hurt. "I meant: a Marine. I can handle myself."

The kids laughed. "Mom, you should go to bed. It's late."

"Hey, it's only-" Jason started.

"Shhh," they girls whispered together. It was barely nine o'clock. Not late by any of their standards, least of all their mother, who cruised through life almost exclusively on caffeine fumes.

"No," she said jokingly, trying to prop herself up. "That pizza smells goooood."

"Okay, Mom's drunk," Stevie joked.

Elizabeth sat up then, "I'm not!" They started laughing and teasing each other until Henry picked Elizabeth up in a gallant, if exaggerated, show of strength, cradled her in his arms and carried her upstairs. "Oh," she said as he laid her on the bed. "I wanted more of that." She rolled over to her side of the bed, head buried in the pillows, clearly desperate for sleep.

"I know," he said softly. "But you need some rest, babe." He pulled down the sheets on his side and slid in. He needed rest too. The laughter had been good for them. She rolled over to face him, still on top of the covers.

"Henry?" He smiled, tilting his head toward her. "Help me under the covers. I can't move anymore." He bit his lip then leaned toward her, one arm under her, the other over her back, and pulled her on top of him. They paused for a brief moment there. She stared into his eyes. She kissed the tip of his nose. He reached out with his left arm and made a tent of the sheets beside him, slowly lowering her back onto her side, underneath the cool sheets. Then he pulled them over himself. "You always surprise me, Henry. You never let me down."

"I hope I never do again," he whispered. She was likely asleep.

It wasn't a phrase out of character for her, but it was one hitting him in a weird way tonight. With all the commotion about Adam, he'd been remembering the day they found out, at the way she'd looked when she said he hadn't been there. He hadn't been at that random appointment where the health of their child had suddenly transitioned from very healthy to unlikely to survive. Back when it happened, he'd had panic attacks about that moment. Imagining the fear that must've run through her veins, her eyes wide as she searched for him, then the exhaustive drive home and hours of waiting for him to finally arrive. He had let het down then. She hadn't held it against him except that one time. She wouldn't have even brought it up if he weren't pressing her for details. Pressing her for information on the very day she'd found out about the baby. When he'd been teaching and hadn't come to the appointment.

Maybe there were other times they disappointed each other. He was disappointed in her when she asked him to turn a grade for Russia's foreign minister Gorev, when she went to Iran against his better wishes though he knew there was no stopping her. He'd likely disappointed her when she found out he hadn't finished with the NSA gig and blew their anniversary, tied her up in a little foreign knot of complication. And there were likely moments of profound love and forgiveness that transpired between them that the other knew nothing about. Holding his daughters in the few minutes after they'd discovered she was alive in Iran, holding her when he came back from Bolivia, praying at the Church in Russia when nothing was guaranteed.

It was crazy, he thought, turning off the lamp on his bedside table, how much weight he still carried regarding Adam, how much of it had seeped into the marriage. He felt his eyes begin to swell and fill, momentarily, with tears. He took a deep breath, pushing them down. He turned to look at this wife, sleeping peacefully again, her lips slightly parted the way they usually did. He reached out for her hand, kissed it, then tucked it under his chin, entwined with this, as he closed his eyes.


	8. Chapter 8

_**10 years prior...**_

They made it to nine and a half months before she went into labor. It was a weekend. She and Henry walked hand in hand through the park as their kids ran amok around them. They were walking for this exact purpose, to just do this labor thing and have this baby and see if he survived. Henry pushed Jason in a small stroller as they walked. They'd gone up and down in the last month. They'd been to other doctors, they'd had other tests run, all conclusively the same. There was likely no hope. A percentage so small it shouldn't have given them any ideas as to what his life would be like post-birth. It would be short. There were several nights where he'd walk in on her crying in the bathtub as she tried to relax her aching, swollen body. He'd sit on the side of the tub, hold her hand and they'd cry together.

Then they were days when she'd stumble on some piece of information that made them hopeful. She'd feel something move in her belly and think happy thoughts for so long she was bound to fall from them, but she couldn't help it. And he couldn't help respond to it. Their hope was contagious.

And then, half a mile down the path, she felt the first sting of labor. Sting wasn't even the word. It was a sharp pain, the deep kind emanating from somewhere within her middle. She squeezed Henry's arm and doubled over. "Oh God," she breathed in deeply. "Henry, we need to go." After three kids, the pain was blinding and familiar. The last place she wanted to be was half a mile down a path in a park. He calmed her. He called the kids, he called his Mother. They made it back to the car, they made it to the hospital where the diagnosis was handed down for maybe the fifth or sixth time. Each time, though not as painful as the first, was heart-wrenching.

He came out screaming, just like the rest of them. So much so that something caught in Elizabeth's gut - she thought, for a minute, that the screams, typically indicative of a healthy baby, meant just that for Adam. He, however, was in distress and carted off before Elizabeth was even able to see him. Henry'd taken a peek, in the split seconds after he arrived and was transferred from doctor to nurse to cart, the screams and machines he was quickly attached to manically being driven down the hallway. It was an uncomfortable feeling for him - an immediate loss, should he follow? What could he do? Elizabeth wasn't quite done yet and in his momentary indecision, he moved back to her side, holding her hand as she sobbed and the whole thing finished its course.

They brought him back in a little time later. He was subdued, or sedated, they weren't quite sure which. He was wrapped up in the familiar blue and pink hospital blankets, a tiny cap around his head. As the nurse handed him to Elizabeth, the cap slipped off revealing a head full of dark brown fuzz. She smiled at Henry as she noticed, "Look," she whispered, cradling him in her arms. "Henry, he looks like you." He leaned over, kissed her on the temple, and stayed hunched over, taking in his little son.

His parents and the kids arrived shortly thereafter. Each took a turn holding the quiet baby, his eye never opening, his body never really moving beyond small adjustments. Elizabeth tried to smile, though she couldn't stop the tears from coming each time. In due time, they were gone. She moved over in the hospital bed to make room for Henry, who slipped in, the baby cradled against his chest, his other arm pulling her close so they could take him in together.

"I'm going to be honest with you," the doctor said after the kids left. "His organs will begin to fail, and he will be incredible pain." Elizabeth winced. "We've given him a sedative. You may have a few hours still."

It was hard to believe. He didn't look unhealthy. He didn't look like he was in pain. Elizabeth desperately wanted to sleep - the labor had been exhaustive, but she couldn't waste a minute of their limited time. "Henry," she whispered. "Please don't let me fall asleep. Keep talking to me."

"He has my hair, but look at the way he's pursing his lips. I've seen that look a million times." Then, to the baby: "Usually before she says something really smart-ass, so you better re-think whatever you're thinking."

Elizabeth nudged him, rolling her eyes. "Now I'm worried about how much pain he's in."

"The doctor said we would know. I think right now he's just sleeping. Blissful sleep."

A little while later, he was gone. The little baby breaths they'd been monitoring had slowed, then stopped. A trio of nurses had been in the room. Henry had pressed the button at one point, scared, thinking, absently, that something could be done. The death itself was quiet and formal. After a few more goodbyes, the nurses took the baby away and Elizabeth folded herself into Henry and they both cried again.

Henry woke up some time later. They'd fallen asleep, and he slipped out of the bed, repositioning the pillows so Elizabeth could continue to rest. The high blood pressure and anxiety Adam's death was causing her weren't good and if she didn't rest, the doctor said, they would forcibly sedate her. Henry sat just outside the door making calls - first to his parents, he talked to the kids, her parents. He called Isabelle, who promised to tell Juliet and no one else. Then, he just sat for a while in the hallway. The rest of the world moved around him at its normal pace while he moved nowhere.

"Dr. McCord?... Dr. McCord?" a nurse tapped on his shoulder. He awoke from his reverie. "Your wife is calling for you." He realized where he was, the weight of the day suddenly back on him in full force. He jumped up and went back into the room to find Elizabeth sitting up in bed, her eyes red-rimmed. She was frantic.

"Henry," she whispered, relief spreading across her face. "Where have you been, I've been calling all over."

"I was just outside," he said, softly, pulling up to her bedside. He rested his hand on her jaw, kissed her lips softly. She kissed him back instinctively. She looked him over, searched his eyes, willed her own heart to slow its pace. "Shhh," he said as she laid back into the bed. She stared into his eyes and tried to breathe deeply, to relax. "I'm here," he said. "I'm not going anywhere, okay? I love you and I'm here." He took her hand and held it tightly.

"I've been thinking that I don't want to tell anyone, okay?" A wave of emotion came over her mid-sentence. "I'm just a mess right now and I don't think I can handle anyone asking me questions or bringing food or offering sympathy, any of that."

"I called Isabelle, she's telling Juliet and that's it. Is that okay, should I stop her?"

"No, that's fine. I just... maybe this sounds ridiculous but I want Adam to be ours," she looked up at him, her brows raised in question. She would look at him like that many more times in the future, whenever she needed absolute clarity and confirmation from him.

"Of course he's ours." He pulled himself closer to her. "He'll just be ours."


	9. Chapter 9

Elizabeth walked through the halls of the Russell Senate Office Building. It was early, and she walked with a calm, if determined, gait. The idea had come to her the night before when she'd woken up to find the kids passed out in the living room where they'd been watching movies, the television silently playing the morning news - more coverage of the outspoken Senator from Georgia, railing against her. He wasn't just picking at her policy decisions or staffing - that incident with the French President and Jay was thrown in her face, though it had, admittedly, been before her time - it was her closeness with the President, her neglect of Israel and then he'd moved on to her personal life - her relationship with her husband (a conflict of interest! a religious zealot!) and her children.

Most of the talking heads were criticizing his views, but they were still letting him rail on and on without interruption. Mostly about Elizabeth. The man hadn't been in office long and would have several more years to serve, so far electing to serve his own interests instead of any constituency. She had to put a stop to it. She walked down the marble hallway, framed paintings of past Senate leaders in gilded frames every few feet; past several thick wooden doors with few clerks and administration running around. People were beginning to notice her as her shoes _clack, clack, clacked_ down the hallway, her security detail flanking her on four sides, giving some gravitas to those not expecting to see her in a place like this.

She came to his door, open as it was since he'd been giving interviews all morning.

"Where is he?" she asked a staff member in Tom Macon's office. The boy, barely 20, held a stack of folders to his chest and looked white with shock.

"In his office, Ma'am," he said, his voice wobbly. He gestured to his left. Elizabeth walked through the open door.

There he was. Senator Tom Macon. Just over fifty, thinning light-brown hair, square unframed glasses perched just so on his nose. He had a kind face - in these few moments before he noticed her, she hadn't seen his features not contorted in some kind of expression of utter rage. He sat behind an enormous cherry oak desk, several American flags perched behind him, tiny ones all over. A kitschy collection.

"Senator," she said, interrupting his thoughts. He looked up, meek.

"Secretary McCord," he said lightly, straightening up in his chair.

"I hear you have a few things you'd like to discuss with me."

"Please," he gestured to the chair in front of him. "Have a seat. Would you like something to drink?"

"I'll only be a minute. I've gotta say, this is the first time I've been to this building in several years. This office is a heck of a thing," she said, looking around.

He followed her eyes. "It's a heck of a thing, for sure, Ma'am."

"I have a great respect for the Senate, Mr. Macon. I respect the history of its inception, the balance of power it helps provide, the representation it gives in equal measure to all states in the nation. But you know what I don't like? What really gets under my skin? Your untruthful and hate-filled accusations directed at me, my office and more importantly in this instance, my family. You want to rage against the administration, make a name for yourself - fine by me. Some would say there's nothing more patriotic than protesting your government. But if you ever go after me or my family again, I'll make sure you fall into a hole of bureaucracy so deep, you won't be able to find your way out of this office to rail against a piece of fried chicken. Am I being clear?"

"Ma'am," he stumbled. "My deepest apologies - I didn't know until this morning about your situation..."

"Please feign sympathy to someone else, Senator."

"It's difficult to get the attention of the media," he said as she turned. "I have to rail against Washington to serve my state, to serve the American people - and I think there's a lot going on in the State Department and in every other department run by this administration that people would be disgusted by. But they have a right to know." She turned back.

"That well may be. A little advice before you continue - you better have more than your thoughts as proof." She turned again and left the room, again surrounded by her detail.

"I _am_ sorry, Secretary!" he yelled out.

...

"Is she in?" Daisy asked later, noticing Elizabeth's closed office door.

"Several members of Congress asked to speak with her, jointly," Blake said, lifting his eyebrows.

"Hmm," she inhaled deeply.

"It looks like there's been a turn in the press," Nadine said, coming up behind Daisy.

"Yes, Senator Macon is expected to give a press conference in a hour. He was still railing on the early shows, but I have a source who said he's redirecting."

"Good. We've got a full schedule of _actual_ work to do today. Blake, is the Nauru delegation still coming in for lunch?"

"They are, Ma'am. And I think we're set on _President_ Yispinza."

"Even better," she turned to leave. "Let me know when they've gone, will you? I need to make a call."

Elizabeth's door open moments later, a string of suited men and women, all wide smiles, exited, shaking her hand as they left. "Thank you," Elizabeth said to each one. "Thank you for your support." When they'd gone, Elizabeth stood in the doorway, exhausted looking. Playing politics wasn't her forte, even if it was to her benefit. Typically she was having to run them off of their better intentions as they related to foreign policy - other times, she had great discussions Blake was forced to interrupt for the business of actual foreign policy.

"Another rousing coffee?" he joked.

"I think it was positive. Can you get Nadine?"

They didn't have time to acknowledge the press conference, the public apology from the reticent lips of Senator Macon for "any pain I may have caused Secretary McCord and her family in my misguided effort to investigate the Dalton administration," or the string of requests for interviews - denied all week - that poured in over the next few hours. This was a working day. Meetings were scheduled all day with Ambassadors, the UN, the White House and the Congressional consortium who made the interview rounds in her defense and support all afternoon. It wasn't a full-on backing down. That would've been unprecedented, it would've been suspicious. Macon would still go after the Department, and they'd have to deal with whatever fallout occurred.

"You talked to Senator Macon this morning?" Nadine said, smirking as she sat across from Elizabeth. They were preparing to video chat with the the Foreign Minister of Peru.

"You know what really irks me about guys like Macon? They come to Washington with all this power - or, the _ability_ to represent, to have a voice. And they do it all wrong. They spend more time on television talking about change instead of developing policy or negotiating deals that may result in _real_ change. He's on the warpath like _National Enquirer_ headlines are solid investigative journalism."

"And we have him for several years yet."

"We do," she sighed. "I guess the future will show if he's truly committed to patriotism or popularity." Blake knocked on the door, holding a steaming mug of coffee. "Oh yes, please," she said, her arms outstretched. "Thank you, Blake." Then, to Nadine: "The President really wants to push this South American policy and if I can't get Peru on board and shift the attention away from myself, I'm going to have a hell of a time for as long as people like Macon are in office."

...

"Hey," she said, walking into their bedroom hours later. It was past ten, the kids were asleep or out. It was becoming hard to keep up as they grew older.

"Hey you," Henry replied. He sat, a laptop firmly on his lap, typing furiously. Spying him from the hallway, she'd taken a moment to watch him. He was lit only by a small lamp in the corner and the flicker of cars and streetlights from the slight opening in the blinds. They'd cast shadows over his face with every pass. He was so focused when he was writing. He could write several pages just by confirming in his mind what we would write, then plugging away at it. She'd always admired that about him. "I didn't hear you come in." She held up her shoes as she closed the door behind her.

"I was trying to be quiet," she said softly, walking slowly to the chair. He smiled, closed the laptop and slid it onto the bookshelf behind him. She sat on the ottoman near his feet.

"Sounds like you had a heavy work day?" He took off his glasses.

"It was glorious," she smiled.

"C'mere," he motioned her over. She crawled over until she was snuggled halfway into the chair, and halfway on him, his arm wrapped around her, her head on his chest. He leaned down to kiss her. He pulled a blanket over them as her arm wound around his middle. She wrapped a leg around his and squeezed him tightly.

"I missed this," she whispered. "I've spent most of the week crying, sleeping or working myself out of a rage spiral."

"It feels nice to just _be_ for a moment..." he finished.

"It does. How was your day?"

"Gave a couple lectures, took a few meetings - mostly trying to finish this book on St. Francis."

"Henry, you are so behind," she joked.

"I know! I told my publishers it was your fault and they could just join the line of people personally offended by Elizabeth McCord."

"They'll be waiting a long time, it's a surprisingly long line for such a short time in office."

He sighed. "I'm sorry about this week - that all of this happened..."

"Henry, don't -"

"No, I've been distracted by work and... we should've come together on Virginia, on the kids, on these things. These are important things to me - to _us_. The press was such a whirlwind of ups and downs and I haven't figured out how to be there for you like I should."

"Henry, really," she sat up a little, looking into his eyes. "You did everything right. I wasn't the only one, you were hurting too. And you took care of the kids. Babe, you did everything right. The _situation_ was bad. I don't know what you could've-"

"Well, I can think of a thousand things I would've done differently. Starting with nailing that Senator in the-"

"Not that I think you need to, but I can think of one way you can make it up..." she smiled, relaxing again and pulling him close.

"Believe me," he said sternly. "That is number two on my list."

"Number two?"

"Right after this," he smiled, turning the lamp off and leaning down to kiss her in the same motion.


	10. Chapter 10

"Why'd you guys choose this place?" Stevie asked. They stood, all five of them, up the hill overlooking the mountains of Virginia. Elizabeth and Henry sat on the stone bench underneath the slight tree, the other kids spread out around the small marker for their brother, Adam. It was a beautiful day, as it always was when they were here. A slight chill, a slight breeze, miles of blue sky punctuated by marshmallow clouds and the distant sounds of a train as it moved through town. Mostly, it was quiet with chirps from birds and the occasional butterfly flying around them.

"We used to own some of this property before it was sold for this cemetery, which is what it is," Henry began. "Actually, what it always was. We didn't know that at the time. Most of the markers are spread throughout the hill over there for easier road access, but Mom and I used to walk over here before you guys were born."

"This view is one of my favorites - you can see so far..." Elizabeth continued.

"We never thought we'd have to choose a place like this for one of you," Henry squeezed her hand. "But if we had to, we wanted the best we could possibly do."

"It's crazy to think that it's been ten years," Aly said, hugging her knees close to her chest. "I have some memories of Mom being pregnant but it just morphs into it being Jason."

"You two were really excited, you knew it was going to be a boy," Elizabeth smiled, gesturing to Stevie and Alison.

"What was I doing?" Jason interjected.

"Mostly being my shadow," she laughed.

"You were a real Mama's boy back in the day," Henry joked. Jason rolled his eyes as the others laughed, nudging him on the back.

"No, you were really protective, Jason. It was really sweet considering you probably didn't know what was going on. You didn't like if anyone got too close to me. You wanted to be the only one who could touch my belly."

"Ugh, God," he sighed.

"You were completely the opposite next year," she sighed.

"I think it's neat that you come here every year. Do you think you always will?" Stevie asked.

"I don't know," Elizabeth said. "We didn't mean for it to be a tradition, but we felt compelled to come. This year feels different for some reason."

"I think just knowing he's not really here," Henry started. " Knowing that this is just a marker of his life, it's nice to be close, to see his name in print. But he's really wherever we are, whenever we think of him — it's the same thing."

"But I do like to see this view," she squeezed his hand. "As crazy as the past year has been for all of us, it's nice to have a place of quiet that no one really knows about — or knew about. I'm a little sad to know it's not our own private place anymore." She looked up and down the hill to where the cars were parked. The detail stood beside the vehicles as they'd done the first time she'd visited. Another unmarked vehicle parked a decent distance behind, but there was no doubt a telephoto lens behind the window.

"You know, if you guys walk down the hill that way," he pointed. "There's a little general store that sells snacks and knick knacks. Why don't you guys go check it out while Mom and I take a walk, okay?"

The kids mumbled, hugging their parents one by one then trailing off down the hill. Elizabeth smiled hearing them laugh. She knew she was lucky, she'd always been lucky, to have kids like this. To have been able to raise those kids with Henry for so long in such safe spaces with few worries to cross their minds. She thought in that moment of Abdol Javani, likely terrorized by the death of his Father more than she would ever be. She thought of the Abdol's little brother and Mother and how quickly their lives had transitioned from relatively carefree, to always on guard and aware of the suddenness of death.

She swallowed hard thinking it was possible that in those flashbacks, in the memories of Iran that had plagued her for so long, it was partially Abdol, and partially Adam she was seeing. Another child she couldn't save despite her best intentions, despite doing everything in her power, despite hoping and praying against all odds.

"Hey, where'd you go?" Henry asked softly, reaching for her hand.

"I was just thinking how our lives have changed since then," she smiled. "I've been thinking about it all week, I guess. How we used to spend our days back at the farmhouse before I started teaching at UVA. I was out of work for over a year, what was I doing all that time?"

"You were raising the kids, Babe. Being their personal chef and punching bag, their therapist and best friend."

"Henry, I was not their personal chef."

"I didn't say you were a great personal chef. They had nothing to compare it to." He wrapped his arm around her shoulder as they ascended a hill slowly. She could see Frank trailing at a respectful distance, his eyes peeled over the open countryside.

"Can you imagine us with four kids? Even as a professor, I felt like I was always missing something in their lives — big, important things. And now," she held our her arms. "Now I'm lucky to have dinner with you guys once a week."

"Babe, you're way too hard on yourself."

"You're too forgiving is what you are, Dr. McCord."

"It would be fine. We've always managed the cards we've been dealt — not always in the best ways, but we're here, we survived." They reached the summit, an even more expansive view of the surrounding mountains, and waterfalls and lakes that comprised the property. Cows mooed in the distance, and they could just spy an old man and his likely grandson sitting in foldout chairs near the riverside, fishing poles outstretched into the slightly rushing water.

"Do you ever feel like something's missing? That you can't be totally happy because a part of you is always grieving? Not just for Adam, I mean, but for other things and people we've lost along the way."

"No," he said quickly, squinting in the sunlight. "I guess that's a thing you can spend your whole life struggling to overcome. But I'm surrounded by you, by our kids, by some really great friends and some okay family," he smiled. "By the integrity of my work and I feel…"

"What?"

"I feel fulfilled. Eating pizza and lo mein the other night — all of us in the same room, laughing and having a good time together... that's my fantasy. That's my dream. If I really stop to think about it, maybe I'd wallow in the fact that we had a baby who died in our arms. And I'd think that could've destroyed us but instead it made us stronger," he shook his head, laughing at himself. "And now I'm a walking book of quotations."

"Henry," she laughed. "You've always been a walking book of quotations."

"Yeah, but I'd like to think I'm usually more philosophical than 'what doesn't kill you makes you stronger'."

A few moments of silence passed between them as they took in the view and held on to each other.

"You don't ever make me feel like a failure, Henry," she looked up at him. "You don't even let me think that way about myself." She stood up on her toes to kiss him, a soft press to his lips that sent a chill down her spine. "I'm grateful for you, you know that?"

He smiled, that sideways smile he wore when he was just on the verge of embarrassment. He leaned down to kiss her. "I'm grateful for you, too. Now," he said, grasping her hand again. "Let's find our kids and get something to eat, do you have time?"

"It's Saturday," she mumbled as they started to descend.

"No rules Saturday, that's right. Does that mean we can go to that little diner that serves the fried everything?"

"You don't even like fried everything."

"I might. It's been so long that I might like it again. Don't forget I subsisted on MRE's for a time, so I have a special place in my heart for all food, fried or not."

They stopped again by Adam's gravestone. They were drawn to it - even atop the hill, the view was just better right here. The shade of the tree, the little stone bench. She kissed two fingers, then dipped down to touch the stone. Henry did the same.

"Bye, baby," she whispered. Her eyes welled up but she didn't cry. She took a deep breath, held onto Henry who seemed to be doing his own emotional avoidance. "Okay," she said. "I'm ready now."


End file.
